Ramblings of a Neurodegenerative Mind: An Anniversary Present
by April in Paris
Summary: Penny has informed me that I need to start thinking about my anniversary present to Amy now. She told me my Christmas present was "too creepy." This is not true. Amy loves it. I did not realize our anniversary required a gift. If I had known, I would have saved the monkey skeleton. Note: rated M for innuendo.


_**AN: Technically, this little one-shot is a sequel of sorts of **_**The Exhalation Combustion Exploration**_** and concurrent with my Book Club stories, but I am hopeful it can be enjoyed by all. Just a document living on Sheldon's hard drive . . .**_

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**Ramblings of a Neurodegenerative Mind: An Anniversary Present for My Wife**

This is absurd. I am concerned this is one of the first symptoms of a catastrophic neurodegenerative disease that will rob me of my brilliance. I will discuss this with Amy. However, writing down exactly what is keeping my mind from concentrating on work is supposed to help me put said thought out of my mind. Google told me so. Google told me additional things, but this sounded the least hippy-dippy. Once the thought is gone, one is supposed to be able to concentrate again. Then, one is supposed to reread the document later, when one has time to do so. Instead, I will scrub it from my hard drive. This is my thought: I am marrying Amy this afternoon. This is a mere formality. This is not a "big deal." We are clearly already pair-bonded for life. Nothing will change whatsoever. I would prefer a longer, more complex Martial Agreement. I will not ask. Amy would refuse. A simple marriage license will have to do. I cannot explain why this thought is keeping me from working. I have other symptoms. My heart rate has increased slightly. I do not have an appetite. I have jumped twice today when someone knocked on my office door. The most unusual symptom in my choice in clothing. Today is Green Lantern day. But this morning I felt that I should wear my newest Flash tee shirt. This shirt is not in rotation for another eight days. I even considered steaming it so that it would be pristine. I did not wish to discuss this with Amy, so I did not. Now I wonder if I am presentable enough. This is absurd. I am going to recite the Fibonacci sequence now instead.

0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, 233, 377, 610, 987, 1597, 2584, 4181, 6765

I thought I had scrubbed this document. Clearly, this neurodegenerative disease is worse than I previously thought. I see half of this page is empty, so I will write what thought is distracting me today. It did not make things worse last week. This is my thought: I have been married for four days now. Everything has changed. Rather, my mind has changed. I feel euphoric for no reason. I fear this is another symptom.

I think this is becoming a habit. It must stop. This will be my last thought. Amy started to play her harp last night. I asked if she would like me to accompany her on my bongos. This pleased her greatly. I cannot stop thinking of her smile.

We had lunch with Amy's mother Saturday. I came home and called my mother to tell her I love her. She reminded me that if I cannot say anything nice that I should not say anything at all. I will not say anything about Amy's mother here.

Amy burnt dinner last night. I do not know how it happened. I do not care that it happened, although I am concerned because Amy is normally so precise. The smell was atrocious. Amy ran to the bedroom. I presume to get away from the smell. I cleaned the mess. I opened the window. I turned on the fan. I went to the bedroom, but the door was shut and Amy was crying inside. I do not know why. I told her through the door I did not care about dinner. She told me to go away. Does this mean I am a horrible husband? Why? I do not understand what happened. I am so confused.

I have not yet spoken to Amy about this condition. I suspect early dementia is also a symptom, because I do not think about it when I am with her. I only become distracted when I am not with her.

I have allowed Amy to include our martial status on Facebook. I will not tell her that I like the way it looks on my Timeline. I fear this is another symptom.

I have decided to keep this document and add to it. I still maintain it is absurd. However, it occurs to me that whatever is ravaging my mind may eventually steal my power of speech. This document may be the only clues as to the early progression of this disease. It will be a necessary part of the medical history. Perhaps Amy and I will win a joint Nobel Prize for this discovery. Sadly, I will be unaware of this honor.

Marriage is confusing and illogical. I still believe I am right. Amy is clearly wrong. I slept in my old bedroom last night. This makes me feel like a horrible husband. Even though I know I am right. [Addendum: Amy is right.]

Confession for the sake of science: Two months ago, I printed out one of the photographs Rajesh took of us. I put it in my desk drawer. I look at it at least once a day.

These are the facts as I understand them: Howard never told Bernadette he had an Instagram account. Bernadette found out when Rajesh let it slip. Bernadette was angry. Now Bernadette and Amy have created accounts (Penny already had one). I have no need of Instagram, but now I have an account to follow Amy. So far her photographs consist of monkeys, brain dissections, and me. I do not think I like this.

Amy has started a campaign to reschedule Laundry Night to another day of the week. She claims doing it on the weekend has and will continue to interfere too much with our social plans. That is ridiculous. I have done laundry on Saturday nights as long as I have been doing laundry. This is non-negotiable.

I have no distracting thoughts this week. This is the first week without them. What does it mean?

For my birthday, Amy prepared a special game of Counter Factuals about kola bears, trains, and Legos. It was the best birthday present I have ever received.

We have started doing laundry on Monday evenings.

This weekend, after Leonard and Penny's wedding, we discussed _The Night Circus_. (Tangent: Was my agreeing to a book club the first sign of my condition? In retrospect, I think it might have been.) Amy did most of the talking. That was good. I did not want to tell her how much it explained to me. I wish I had read this book three years ago. But, three years ago, Amy may not have able to convince me to read it. I may not have understood it. It is a paradox too confusing to discuss.

Amy introduced me to the "quickie" this weekend. The most bizarre thing about it is that I am tempted to use an emoticon.

Last night, I pointed out to Amy that I always take the trash downstairs, and we should alternate this task. Amy disagreed. I told her this was part of gender equality which she claims to espouse. I will not recite the entire conversation for the sake of brevity. I took out the trash.

I had decided to do it once, for Amy. Only once. She has never looked as beautiful as she did afterwards. I will do again if she asks. And my terms are met.

Amy and I were able to have lunch together in the cafeteria today. Her schedule does not usually allow this. It was ruined by Kripke. He had the nerve to ask Amy if our lovemaking is whimsically inventive. Amy told him it is so inventive there are not words yet for the things we have invented. There are times, such as when Amy refuses to fold the hand towels correctly, that I wonder why I married her. There are times, like today, that I wonder why I waited so long.

I am breaking my pattern by writing at home. In the middle of the night. I cannot get back to sleep. Amy offered to "return the favor" tonight. A singular part of me enjoyed it. But the rest of me did not. It did not feel like making love. I think I want my face to be buried in Amy when I make love to her. Acceptable locations: 1) the crook of her neck, 2) her face (i. forehead, ii. lips, iii. the sides of her nose), 3) her hair, 4) her suprasternal notch, 5) her breasts, 6) occasionally her thighs, and 7) I would be willing to try her shoulder blades. I did not like the vacuum. I did not like her being so far away from me. If she offers again, I will refuse. I fear I am an outlier of manhood. I fear she will think I am a horrible husband.

I have reread my last two entries, and I am worried they are signs that my disease is progressing. The first is too sentimental and verbose. The second is far too personal and verbose. I should erase them both. I will return to concise descriptions in the name of science. Just the facts.

We are going to Texas next week. We are staying at my mother's house. My mother has planned a party for Amy and I. Every time I think about it I worry I may hyperventilate.

That was a disaster. I think that is how I am supposed to feel. But I enjoyed the sight of Amy breaking my brother's nose.

Home again. Shoulder blades: acceptable on occasion.

After we returned from Texas, Amy purchased new nightgowns that are shorter without sleeves. She says she has discovered she likes sleeping in less fabric. At least for the summer. Some nights I miss the flannel.

Amy has a gastroenteritis virus. I had planned on avoiding any contact so that I would not catch it. I would read to her, sing Soft Kitty, and bring her weak tea, but I would not touch her. But this morning, she looked so pitiful I brushed and braided her hair for her. I know I will regret it. [Addendum: I did.]

I believe I have been banned from trips to Target. I was not told this. But the last three times a trip to Target was required, Amy offered to drop me off at the model train store and pick me up later. Why? It is a delight to shop with me.

I have, apparently, "really done it this time." Amy is furious. I am a horrible husband. [Addendum: Amy was right.]

While watching a Labor Day _Doctor Who _marathon, Amy informed me she prefers the 10th Doctor over the 11th. She said it is because he is taller, has darker hair, and is calmer. I do not understand this.

Amy was right: Bernadette has announced she is pregnant. Amy has suspected for two months based on biological and social clues. I was just getting used to Stuart being a regular member of our group. [Addendum: It has now occurred to me the conversations Amy and I sometimes have could qualify as gossip. Is it possible we now share the same neurological failings?]

I miss Amy. She is in the final stages of her current study, and she is frequently working late. Of note, Penny has also been working late because of her filming schedule. Leonard and I are spending more time together, which is enjoyable. But I still miss Amy.

After Book Club last night, we danced. I wonder why we did do not dance more. We both excel at it. Of course.

For Halloween, we are all going as the Avengers. This was our plan last year, before Stuart ruined it. I will be Spider-Man. Amy has chosen Gwen Stacy. I told her Mary Jane Watson is the iconic choice. She states she wants to be Gwen Stacy because "she is in love with the man, not the myth other people see." I do not understand what this means. However, I am pleased by the amount of research she has put into it.

Leonard and Penny are moving out. They have purchased a house. Amy was assigned the task of telling me. It is my understanding there was some concern about my reaction. That is preposterous. As long as Amy does not move out, there is nothing to be concerned about.

Amy and Bernadette are going away to a biology conference. I proposed the idea of a weekend of gaming here in her absence, instead of joining her. I am pleasantly surprised that Amy strongly supports this idea. However, her support is based in ridiculous emotional clichés such as "absence makes the heart grow fonder." Nevertheless, I am looking forward to it. I am also relieved I can still recognize an emotional cliché. Perhaps my disease has not progressed as far as I thought.

The gaming weekend was very enjoyable. Not as enjoyable as Amy coming home. She was right. I will not admit this to her.

Halloween was perfect. Everything went exactly as planned. No costume problems. No drama. It is my second favorite Halloween.

She is the most infuriating person with whom I have ever lived. Leonard was a thousand times easier to live with. Maybe she is a horrible wife. [Addendum: Amy is not a horrible wife. She is a wife who is right. I am a horrible husband.]

Amy presented me with the _Kuma Sutra_ last night. How is that she is not embarrassed by those drawings? I have agreed as long as she just tells me about it. It is not embarrassing when Amy suggests it.

_The Journal of Neuroscience _has chosen Amy's previous study report as the cover article this week. It is brilliant. Amy is brilliant. She may be more brilliant than me. I cannot decide if I feel fear or pride.

Amy has clearly put a lot of thought and effort into her plan. I have not been allowed time to argue. Rather, I have already been enrolled in some sort of accelerated driving class that requires home study and in which I will be given a grade. Class starts tonight. Amy told be she expects nothing less than an A. As if I was capable of receiving less than that.

I have told Amy I want to put a hiatus on the _Kama Sutra_. I had lived in fear of telling her for days. I was forced to tell her the truth. That it felt too much like work. I never want it to be work. That sometimes she was too far away from me. Surprisingly, given it was her idea, Amy agreed to my hiatus. Last night, we returned to the first way, my favorite way, when I am shielding her from the world.

What fresh hell is this? I have just reread my last entry, and I fear for my sanity. I have clearly entered stage two of this disease. This is all Amy's fault. If she had not convinced me to read "literature" I would not be saying such ridiculous, overly poetic hippy poppycock. I will demand to pick the next book, and it will be the most logical book in existence.

I think Amy may love Christmas. She induced me to bake cookies with her last night. She said she wanted us to start "a tradition." How absurd for logical scientists. I fear I may have enjoyed it.

For the second year in a row, I am not working this week after Christmas. This time, though, Amy is here. It is an entirely different week.

Penny has informed me that I need to start thinking about my anniversary present to Amy now. She told me my Christmas present was "too creepy." This is not true. Amy loves it. I did not realize our anniversary required a gift. If I had known, I would have saved the monkey skeleton.

I have received replies from Leonard, Howard, and Rajesh about Amy's anniversary present. Leonard suggests jewelry, as usual. Howard's reply is pornographic, as usual. Rajesh's is so absurd I think he may be patient zero for this disease from which I suffer. My friends are not helping.

Another week without distractions. In fact, my work has never been better.

My concerning thought this week: for a second week a row, I have none. Even with my superior memory, I feel each week with Amy is pleasantly like the one before. Is that good or bad?

I made a promise to Amy after Book Club last night. I fear I will not be able to keep it. I am a horrible husband.

I am not a horrible husband. I excel at being a husband. I do not know why I doubted it. I excel at everything. I have reread this document, and I realize this is exactly the type of illogical, incoherent meanderings Amy would think romantic. I will print this out to be my anniversary present to her. I will roll it into a scroll.

Now I just have to decide: the 14th or the 20th? We should have thought this through last year. I am certain I wasn't thinking at all.

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**_AN: Thank you in advance for your reviews! I truly appreciate them._**


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